“Your Honor, he hit me with the chicken! Assaulted me with a bag of fried chicken! I had to go to the emergency room!”

“Otis, I have never seen you turn down chicken in the entire year I knew you. Never. Not for four hundred dollars. Not for nothing. You love chicken more than you love Jesus.”

“Judge, I’m from Greenwood, Mississippi! You don’t hit a man with no chicken in the Mississippi Delta! That’s a sin! That’s worse than cursing on a Sunday!”

“All rise. This court is now in session. The Honorable Judge Greg Mattis presiding. You may now be seated.”

The case of Brer versus Steel had everything a daytime courtroom drama needed: friendship, betrayal, alcohol, a broken television, and a weaponized three-piece dark meat combo from a fast-food chain with a red-and-white striped bucket on its logo. Plaintiff Otis Brer was suing his former best friend, defendant Eldric Steel, for assault and damages to his forty-two-inch flat-screen television. Eldric was counter-suing for defamation of character, the cost of the chicken, emotional distress, and “pain and suffering caused by social media humiliation.”

And Otis had the video to prove it.

But what started as a simple dispute over a broken TV quickly spiraled into something much darker. There were secrets. There were lies. There was a mysterious third person at the party that night who had been scrubbed from the record. There was a text message thread that would make a therapist weep. And there was a bag of fried chicken that would become the most infamous piece of evidence since the bloody glove.

Let me take you back to the beginning of this beautiful disaster.

Part One: The Friendship

Otis Brer took the stand first, wearing a suit that was slightly too tight and a level of emotional energy that suggested he had consumed at least three energy drinks before walking into the courthouse. He spoke with the cadence of a man delivering a sermon, which made sense because he later revealed that he had been “anointed by God with a gift for preaching.” He was forty-one years old, worked as a security guard at a warehouse, and lived alone in a one-bedroom apartment in Decatur, Georgia. His most prized possession was his television.

“Your Honor,” Otis began, his voice already rising to a near-shout, “I’ve been knowing Eldric for almost a year now. He was like my best friend. My ace. My brother from another mother. Every time I needed him, he was the one I could go to. He was there for me financially, spiritually, emotionally—he was just always that friend that I could count on when I needed him the most.”

Judge Mattis, a fifty-three-year-old former public defender with steel-gray hair and the patience of a saint who had long since lost his halo, nodded slowly. “So this was a close friendship.”

“Sir, yes sir. We talked every day. Every single day. Morning texts. Night calls. He knew my schedule. I knew his. We was tighter than two coats of paint.”

“But you’re here today.”

“Because he broke my heart and my television, Your Honor. In that order.”

Otis explained that Eldric had a drinking problem. “When we normally get together, he normally can’t control his drinking. He starts off with wine—a big glass, like a fish bowl—and then he moves to something harder. Usually cognac. By eleven o’clock, he’s dancing like nobody’s watching and crying about his ex-girlfriend from 2015.”

“So you’re saying God brought him into your life?”

“Yes, sir! God brought him into my life!”

Judge Mattis leaned back. “Makes you think God wanted you to have him beat you and steal from you?”

Otis paused, a beat too long. “At the time, Your Honor, God brought him into my life because he’s a good person. He got a good heart. He’s just… troubled.”

“What did he do for you? Other than allegedly steal from you and break your property?”

Otis’s voice softened. “He was there when I lost my grandma, Your Honor. September 12th, 2022. I was a mess. Couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sleep. He came over at two in the morning with a bucket of that same chicken and just sat with me. Didn’t say nothing. Just sat. So before all this happened, I said God brought him into my life for a reason.”

“To comfort you, not to steal from you.”

“Yes, sir. Exactly. Comfort, not chaos.”

The courtroom was quiet for a moment. Even Eldric, sitting at the defense table, looked down at his hands.

Then Otis continued.

“So it was this one particular day, about six months after Grandma passed. Me and Eldric, we love to eat. I mean, we really love to eat. I cooked up some collard greens with smoked turkey, neck bones simmered for six hours, black-eyed peas with ham hocks, and a skillet of cornbread the size of a pizza. I spent all day on that meal, Your Honor. All day.”

“That sounds like a lot of food for two people.”

“I was gonna freeze the leftovers. But he showed up with a big glass of wine—one of those giant goblets you see in medieval movies—and I said to myself, ‘Oh Lord, I hope this man don’t get too drunk.’”

Judge Mattis raised an eyebrow. “Did you ask him to put the wine away?”

“I didn’t want to be rude, Your Honor. He was my guest.”

“So you let him drink.”

“He’s a grown man. I’m not his daddy.”

The vibe was good at first. They ate. They listened to music on Otis’s forty-two-inch LG flat-screen, which he had bought on Black Friday two years prior for three hundred and ninety-nine dollars. They laughed. They reminisced about Grandma. They talked about old girlfriends and bad jobs and the time they both got lost driving to Savannah.

“And then,” Otis said, leaning forward, “a song came on. ‘Back That Azz Up’ by Juvenile. You know that song, Judge?”

Judge Mattis sighed. “I’m familiar.”

“Everybody turn up when that song comes on. It’s a law of nature. So we started dancing. And I mean dancing. I was doing the two-step. He was doing something else—something I’ve never seen before. He was moving like he was trying to shake a ghost off his back. And then—boom.”

“Boom?”

“An earthquake, Your Honor. He was moving like an earthquake. And he slammed into my TV. Knocked it clean off the stand. Screen cracked. Sparks flew. It was done. Finished. Deceased.”

“You’re telling me there was an actual earthquake?”

“We live in Atlanta, Your Honor. May as well have earthquakes in Atlanta the way they was shaking.”

“And what did Mr. Steel say when he broke your television?”

“He admitted it, Your Honor! He looked at the TV, looked at me, looked back at the TV, and said, ‘Oh, my bad, O. I got you. I’ll buy you another one.’ Those were his exact words.”

Otis pulled out his phone. “And I got a text message from him the next morning confirming it. Exhibit A.”

The bailiff took the phone and handed it to Judge Mattis. The text was time-stamped 8:47 AM and read: “Yo O, my bad about last night. I was faded. I’ll cash app you for the TV when I get paid Friday.”

Judge Mattis read it aloud. “Mr. Steel, did you send this text?”

Eldric stood up. He was forty-three, worked as a logistics coordinator for a warehouse distribution center, and dressed like he had somewhere important to be after court. “Your Honor, I sent that text, yes. But I was hungover. I didn’t remember breaking anything. I was just apologizing because he was blowing up my phone all night and I wanted him to leave me alone.”

“So you admitted to something you didn’t do?”

“I admitted to being sorry he was upset. That’s different.”

Judge Mattis made a note. “That’s a very lawyerly distinction for a man without a lawyer.”

“I watch a lot of court shows, Your Honor.”

Part Two: The Devil’s Advocate

Now it was Eldric’s turn to testify. He approached the stand with the measured calm of a man who had been accused of ridiculous things before and had learned that the best defense was not to match energy but to absorb it.

“Otis is a great friend,” Eldric began. “He is a great friend. But Otis is also a pathological liar. And I’m not saying that to be mean. I’m saying that as a diagnosis. He lies about big things. He lies about small things. He lies about what he ate for breakfast. If you asked him what day it was, he’d check his phone, then tell you a different day just to see if you were paying attention.”

“So the devil brought him into your life?”

“Most definitely. God brought him into your life—the devil brought him into mine. Otis lies a lot on other people, but I never thought in a million years he would lie on me. We were brothers. We had a bond. And he threw it away for a forty-two-inch TV that wasn’t even 4K.”

Judge Mattis blinked. “The television’s resolution is relevant?”

“To him? Yes, Your Honor. He had been complaining about that TV for months. Said the picture was ‘fuzzy.’ Said the sound was ‘tinny.’ Said he wanted a sixty-inch OLED with surround sound. He put one on layaway at Best Buy two months before this happened. Two months.”

Otis shot up from his seat. “Objection! Hearsay!”

“Sit down, Mr. Brer,” Judge Mattis said. “This isn’t a criminal trial, and you’re not a lawyer. Let him finish.”

Eldric continued. “He wanted that new TV so bad, Your Honor. He talked about it every day. ‘Eldric, can you believe the blacks on this OLED?’ ‘Eldric, do you think I should get the extended warranty?’ ‘Eldric, if someone accidentally broke my old TV, do you think they’d buy me the new one?’”

The courtroom murmured.

“And what did you say to that?” Judge Mattis asked.

“I told him that if someone broke his TV, they should replace it with the same model. Not an upgrade. That’s not how life works.”

Otis couldn’t contain himself. “You lying! You said you would buy me any TV I wanted!”

“I said I would help you pick one out!”

“Liar!”

“Order!” Judge Mattis banged his gavel. “Mr. Brer, one more outburst and I’ll hold you in contempt. Do you understand?”

Otis sat down, fuming.

Eldric explained that on the night in question, there were other people present. “It wasn’t just me and Otis. There was Kiki. There was Sheik. There was a guy named Marcus who Otis owed forty dollars to. There were at least five people in that apartment, Your Honor. Otis has a habit of editing history to make himself look like the victim.”

Judge Mattis turned to Otis. “Is this true? Were there other people there?”

Otis shifted in his seat. “Kiki was there, yes. But she was in the bedroom most of the night. Sheik left before the TV broke. And Marcus—Marcus doesn’t count because he was outside on the phone the whole time.”

“Five people is different from two people, Mr. Brer.”

“Your Honor, I was the only one who saw what happened because I was the only one in the living room when he did the earthquake dance.”

Eldric shook his head. “I would never break nobody’s TV. I am very materialistic. I take care of my things. I take care of other people’s things. When I drink, I get happy. I don’t get destructive. I get… philosophical.”

“Philosophical?”

“Last time I got drunk, I spent three hours explaining to a wall why ‘The Matrix’ was a documentary. I didn’t break anything. I just talked.”

“So you’re saying Otis is making this up because he wanted a new TV?”

“Yes, Your Honor. He wanted that TV so bad that he saw that night as the perfect opportunity to pin it on me. He thought I was drunk enough not to remember. But I remember everything. I remember him dancing near the TV. I remember him stumbling. I remember the crash. And I remember him looking at the broken screen and smiling.”

The courtroom went silent.

“Smiling?” Judge Mattis repeated.

“Like he was relieved. Like he had been waiting for something to happen.”

Otis stood up again, slower this time, his hands shaking. “That is a lie. That is a demonic lie. I loved that TV. I named that TV. Her name was Selena, after the singer. And you killed her, Eldric. You killed Selena.”

Judge Mattis put his head in his hands. “I’m going to need a minute.”

Part Three: The Chicken Summit

The testimony moved to the events that followed the broken television. According to Otis, the two men had agreed to meet in a park in Atlanta to settle the matter. Eldric would bring the money. Otis would bring a receipt for the TV. It was supposed to be a simple transaction.

“I went to church the next Sunday,” Otis testified. “I prayed on it. I said, ‘Lord, give me the strength to forgive my brother.’ And I felt a peace come over me. I felt like everything was going to be okay. I even texted Eldric a Bible verse. Proverbs 17:17—’A friend loveth at all times.’”

“What happened next?”

“A week later, he called me. He said, ‘Meet me at the park. I got your money.’ I was so happy, Your Honor. I thought God had answered my prayers.”

Eldric had a different recollection. “I called him because I wanted to apologize. Not for the TV—because I didn’t break it—but for the way things had gotten between us. I missed my friend. So I said, ‘Let’s meet at the park. I’ll bring some food. We’ll talk it out like men.’”

“What kind of food?” Judge Mattis asked.

“Chicken. From the place he likes. The one with the biscuits.”

Otis confirmed that he arrived at the park first. He sat on a bench. He waited. Ten minutes passed. Twenty minutes. He called Eldric. No answer. He texted. No reply.

“I started getting frustrated, Your Honor. I’m sitting there like a fool, holding a receipt for a TV that no longer existed, and he’s not answering his phone.”

“Did you pray while you were waiting?”

“I tried to, but the devil was in my ear, Your Honor. He was saying, ‘He’s not coming. He played you. He played you just like everybody else.’”

Finally, after forty-five minutes, Eldric appeared. He was walking across the park carrying a white paper bag. He was not carrying an envelope of cash. He was not carrying a check. He was not carrying a television.

“He came with a chicken bag, Your Honor,” Otis said. “A KC chicken bag. The three-piece dark meat combo with extra biscuits and a large sweet tea.”

“That’s a very specific order.”

“I know because that’s what I always get, Your Honor. He knows my order. He knows it by heart.”

“And what did you say to him?”

“I said, ‘I don’t want no chicken. Why you gonna bring me some chicken when I need my four hundred dollars?’”

Eldric had his own version. “I walked up to him with the chicken and a smile. I said, ‘O, I’m sorry about everything. Let’s eat. Let’s talk. Let’s be friends again.’ And he looked at me like I had insulted his ancestors. He said, ‘Where’s my money, Eldric? Where’s my four hundred dollars?’”

“Did you have his four hundred dollars?”

“I had three hundred and fifty dollars in my pocket, Your Honor. I was fifty short. I was going to explain that to him after we ate. I figured the chicken would soften the blow.”

Otis’s voice rose to a fever pitch. “He didn’t have no money! He had a bag of chicken and a dream! And when I told him I didn’t want it, he—he—”

“He what, Mr. Brer?”

“He hit me with the chicken, Your Honor. He assaulted me with a bag of fried poultry. In public. In front of children. There was a birthday party happening fifty feet away, and he hit me with a chicken in front of a five-year-old’s bouncy castle.”

Judge Mattis turned to Eldric. “Did you hit Mr. Brer with a bag of fried chicken?”

Eldric took a deep breath. “I did, Your Honor. But I want to be clear—I didn’t hit him hard. I tapped him. It was a love tap. A chicken tap. Like what you do to your brother when he’s being stupid.”

“A love tap with a bag of chicken.”

“Correct.”

“He says he had to go to the hospital.”

“He did not go to the hospital. He went to the same chicken place fifteen minutes later and tried to return the bag for a refund. I have a witness.”

The courtroom erupted. Otis was on his feet again, pointing at Eldric. “You take that back! You take that back right now!”

“Sit down!” Judge Mattis bellowed. “Bailiff, make him sit down!”

The bailiff, a large man named Carl who had seen everything in fifteen years on the job, gently but firmly guided Otis back to his seat.

“You,” Judge Mattis said, pointing at Eldric, “keep talking. And you,” pointing at Otis, “keep quiet.”

Part Four: The Video and the Aftermath

Otis produced the video. The courtroom monitor flickered to life, and the grainy footage showed a park bench, a white paper bag, and two men whose friendship had curdled into something unrecognizable.

“This why you calling my phone every day?” Eldric’s voice came through the tinny speaker. “I brought you some chicken, man. Your favorite. Dark meat.”

“I don’t want no chicken! Where’s my four hundred dollars?”

“Can we just talk? Can we just—”

Thwack.

The bag connected with Otis’s shoulder. He stumbled back but kept filming.

“Did you just hit me with a chicken?”

“I’m trying to apologize!”

Thwack. Another swing. This time to the chest.

“Stop hitting me with that chicken!”

“You never turn down chicken! You could eat chicken raw, baked, fried, boiled—it don’t matter!”

Thwack. Thwack.

The camera wobbled. Otis’s voice was a mix of outrage and genuine pain. “He hit me hard, Judge! Y’all see that? Y’all see how he wound up? That’s a felony!”

Eldric’s voice, exasperated: “I didn’t wind up! I just—”

“You winded up! You wound up like a pitcher for the Braves!”

“Otis, you got all that mess on your face, and you worried about chicken—”

“What did you say about my face?”

“I said you got—you know what, never mind.”

“No, what did you say? Say it on camera!”

The video ended.

The courtroom was silent for a long moment. Then Judge Mattis spoke.

“Mr. Steel, you said something about Mr. Brer’s face. What was that about?”

Eldric looked uncomfortable. “Your Honor, Otis has a skin condition. He’s very self-conscious about it. We’ve talked about it many times. He’s told me that he doesn’t like to post pictures on social media because of how his skin looks. And I—I used that against him in the moment. I was angry. I was frustrated. And I said something I shouldn’t have said.”

“What did you say?”

Eldric’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I said, ‘You got all that mess on your face and you worried about chicken.’”

Otis was crying. Not loud sobs, but silent tears rolling down his cheeks. “That’s why I went to the hospital, Your Honor. Not because of the chicken. Because of what he said. Because he knew how I felt about my skin and he used it to hurt me. That’s worse than any TV. That’s worse than any four hundred dollars.”

The courtroom shifted. What had started as a ridiculous dispute over fried chicken had suddenly become something much more painful.

Part Five: The Witness

Judge Mattis called for a fifteen-minute recess to allow emotions to cool. When court resumed, the judge had a question.

“Mr. Brer, you mentioned a woman named Kiki was at your apartment the night the TV broke. Is she here today?”

Otis hesitated. “I don’t know.”

“Bailiff, is there a Kiki in the gallery?”

A young woman in the third row slowly raised her hand. She was wearing large sunglasses and a nervous expression. Her name was Kiana “Kiki” Johnson, and she had been sitting quietly for the entire proceeding, hoping no one would notice her.

“Ms. Johnson, please approach the stand.”

Kiki walked to the witness box with the reluctance of someone who had been subpoenaed against her will. She was twenty-eight, a nursing assistant, and according to her testimony, she had been Otis’s on-again, off-again girlfriend for two years.

“Ms. Johnson, where were you on the night of the incident?”

“I was at Otis’s apartment, Your Honor. In the bedroom.”

“The bedroom?”

“I wasn’t feeling well. I had a headache. So I laid down while the boys ate and watched TV.”

“Did you hear anything from the bedroom?”

Kiki nodded. “I heard music. Loud music. And I heard laughing. And then I heard a crash. A big crash. Like something heavy falling.”

“What did you do?”

“I came out to the living room. The TV was on the floor. The screen was cracked. And Otis was standing there with his hands on his head, and Eldric was standing there with a glass of wine, and they were both looking at the TV like it had died in their arms.”

“Did you see who broke it?”

Kiki paused. “Not exactly. But I saw something else.”

“What did you see?”

She looked at Otis, then at Eldric, then back at the judge. “I saw Otis stumble into the TV first. Right before it fell. He was dancing, and he backed into the stand. The TV wobbled but didn’t fall. Then Eldric came over to steady it, and that’s when—that’s when the stand tipped.”

“So you’re saying both of them made contact with the television before it fell?”

“Yes, Your Honor. It wasn’t just one person. It was both of them.”

Otis stood up again. “That’s not what happened!”

“Sit down!” Judge Mattis shouted. “Ms. Johnson, continue.”

Kiki took a deep breath. “I’m not trying to take sides. I love Otis. I do. But he’s been telling people that Eldric broke the TV by himself, and that’s not true. Otis was just as much a part of it. He just doesn’t want to admit it because he wants the new TV.”

The courtroom erupted. Otis was shouting. Eldric was shouting. Kiki was crying. The bailiff was trying to restore order. Judge Mattis banged his gavel until his arm hurt.

“Enough! Enough! I’ve heard enough.”

He turned to Kiki. “Ms. Johnson, thank you for your honesty. You may step down.”

He turned to Otis. “Mr. Brer, you told this court that Mr. Steel alone broke your television. But your own witness—your own girlfriend—says you were involved in the accident as well. How do you explain that?”

Otis was sweating. “She’s lying, Your Honor. She’s always been jealous of my friendship with Eldric. She wanted me to spend less time with him, more time with her. This is her revenge.”

“That’s a serious accusation.”

“It’s the truth.”

Judge Mattis turned to Eldric. “Mr. Steel, do you have any response?”

Eldric stood up. “I don’t know why Kiki said what she said. But I do know that I never intended to break that TV. I never intended to hurt Otis. And I never intended for things to get this out of hand. He was my best friend. And I lost him over a bag of chicken and a television that wasn’t even 4K.”

He paused.

“But I also know that Otis has been lying to himself. He’s been lying to everyone. The TV was an accident. A stupid, drunken accident. And instead of forgiving me, instead of talking to me, he decided to turn it into a crime. He decided to turn me into a villain.”

Otis was on his feet again. “You are a villain! You hit me with a chicken! You called me bumpy face!”

“You called me a drunk first!”

“You are a drunk!”

“Order! Order!” Judge Mattis banged his gavel so hard it left a dent in the bench. “I have heard enough testimony. I have seen the video. I have read the text messages. And I am ready to render my verdict.”

Part Six: The Verdict

The courtroom held its breath.

“Mr. Brer, you came to this court seeking four hundred dollars for a broken television, plus an additional two thousand dollars for assault. Mr. Steel, you counter-sued for defamation of character, the cost of the chicken—which you claim was twelve dollars and forty-nine cents—and emotional distress in the amount of five thousand dollars.”

He paused.

“Here is my ruling.”

“First, regarding the television. Based on the testimony of Ms. Johnson, it is clear that both parties contributed to the destruction of the television. Mr. Brer stumbled into it first. Mr. Steel then made contact while trying to steady it. The responsibility is shared. Therefore, I am awarding Mr. Brer two hundred dollars—half the value of the television—to be paid by Mr. Steel.”

Eldric nodded. Otis looked like he had swallowed a lemon.

“Second, regarding the assault. Mr. Steel, you admitted to hitting Mr. Brer with a bag of fried chicken. You called it a ‘love tap.’ But a love tap does not send a man to the emergency room—whether or not he actually went to the hospital. The video clearly shows you striking Mr. Brer multiple times with enough force to cause visible discomfort. That is assault. I am awarding Mr. Brer one thousand dollars for pain and suffering related to the chicken incident.”

Eldric’s face fell.

“However—and this is a big however—I am not awarding any additional damages for emotional distress related to the comment about Mr. Brer’s skin. Mr. Steel, what you said was cruel. It was below the belt. But it was not illegal. Words hurt, but the law does not punish every hurtful word. Mr. Brer, I encourage you to seek counseling for the pain you feel about your appearance. But you will not receive compensation for it in this courtroom.”

Otis looked down at his hands.

“Now, regarding the counter-suit. Mr. Steel, you claim defamation of character. But defamation requires a false statement presented as fact. Mr. Brer said you broke his TV. The evidence shows that you played a role in breaking it. That statement was not entirely false. Additionally, the video of the chicken incident—you did hit him. That happened. The truth is an absolute defense to defamation. Your claim for defamation is denied.”

“The cost of the chicken? You threw it at him. You don’t get reimbursed for a weapon you used to commit assault. That claim is denied.”

“The emotional distress claim? Mr. Steel, you came to this court seeking five thousand dollars because your niece and nephew flinch when you hold food. I find that claim to be… creative. But not persuasive. Denied.”

Judge Mattis took a breath.

“So here is the bottom line. Mr. Steel, you owe Mr. Brer one thousand two hundred dollars. Two hundred for the television, one thousand for the assault. That amount is to be paid within thirty days.”

He looked at both men.

“Now, let me say something that is not in the verdict but needs to be said. You two were friends. Good friends. The kind of friends who sit together at two in the morning after a death in the family. The kind of friends who know each other’s chicken orders. And you let a forty-two-inch television and a bag of fried chicken destroy that.”

“You should be ashamed of yourselves. Both of you.”

The courtroom was silent.

“Mr. Brer, you need to forgive. Not for him—for you. Holding onto this anger is eating you alive. Mr. Steel, you need to apologize. A real apology. Not a text message sent while hungover. A real, face-to-face, ‘I was wrong and I’m sorry’ apology.”

He banged his gavel once more.

“Case dismissed. Get out of my courtroom. And don’t ever bring a chicken in here again.”

Epilogue: The Aftermath

The video of the chicken assault went viral within hours. By the time Otis posted it to Instagram that evening, it had fifty thousand views. By morning, it was at five hundred thousand. Comments poured in from across the country.

“Only in Atlanta.”
“Chicken George strikes again.”
“This man really went to court over a Popeyes bag.”
“The way he wound up like he was pitching in the World Series.”
“I’m crying. He called him ‘bumpy face.’”
“Judge Mattis is a legend.”
“The real crime is that TV wasn’t even 4K.”

Otis bought a sixty-inch OLED with his thousand two hundred dollars. He posted a picture of it on social media with the caption: “New TV. No chickens allowed.”

Eldric paid the money on the twenty-ninth day, just before the deadline. He attached a note to the cashier’s check that read: “I’m sorry about your face. And the chicken. And everything.”

Three months later, a mutual friend posted a photo of Otis and Eldric at a barbecue. They were standing on opposite sides of the grill, not speaking, but also not fighting. There was a bucket of fried chicken on the table between them.

Nobody touched it.

The case of Brer versus Steel became a cautionary tale—not about violence, not about broken televisions, but about the simple truth that when you bring fried chicken to a four-hundred-dollar fight, everyone ends up greasy. And sometimes, the only thing more broken than the TV is the friendship.

But every now and then, on a quiet night in Atlanta, someone will mention “the chicken assault case,” and two grown men who used to be best friends will think about each other.

And maybe—just maybe—one of them will pick up the phone.

But probably not.